


Biting

by entanglednow



Category: Being Human
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-10
Updated: 2008-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which we're all animals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biting

Mitchell is indulging in his own brand of exploration.

George breathes into the pillow, completely still under the attention.

Mitchell's fingers drift over the curve of his ass, through the shallow at the base of his spine to sweep over every one of his vertebrae, edging over the bones in tiny little movements. When George inhales they move higher, to the arc of his shoulder-blade, fingernails dragging ever so softly against the skin, fingertips smoothing the rounded edge of his shoulder.

But when they reach George's throat they shiver to a stop and slide away.

Every time.

Mitchell won't let himself linger there, won't push that boundary, and George doesn't know how to say that there is no boundary, not here, not for them.

He rolls over in the sheets, looks a question at him, but Mitchell either chooses not to understand or chooses not to answer.

George catches his hand, long fingers twitching in his grip, and raises it. All the way back to his neck, he lays it against the edge, keeps it there with a hand.

Mitchell's throat shifts in a convulsive swallow.

"I shouldn't," he says quietly, a shiver of sound that's not entirely steady.

"Why not?" George very slowly moves his hand away, but Mitchell's stays, thumb drifting against the arch in one cool trail.

Mitchell doesn't answer.

"Why not?" George asks again.

Mitchell swallows and looks at him.

"You make me want -" He stops.

George has folded a hand round the back of his neck, one easy pull that drags Mitchell forward, folding from the waist.

"Oh god don't." Mitchell's voice is breathless but he doesn't resist the pressure, doesn't stop him, doesn't try.

"You think I don't want as well," George says roughly.

Mitchell's hair drags against the side of his face, and he twists on instinct, fitting his mouth into the curve, flare of breath against skin, tremble that wants desperately.

"We're all animals here," George says softly, and there's a very quiet sound that's almost a laugh, and then a bite.


End file.
